Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 6: Twenty Questions

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           Bursting into my best friend's room, I let the door hit the wall with a loud crack.

            I looked like a zombie.

            I felt like one too.

             Dress torn. Makeup everywhere. Ankles crookedly remaining in my heels. A swollen hand and scrapes on my knees. I was so heated that my teeth were bared like a wolf.

            "How was the interview?" Marcy asked, not looking up from her laptop. She had her glasses on. We had apologized to one another earlier that day over breakfast. When she did look up at me, her eyes went so wide I thought they were going to pop out of her head.

            I wobbled into the middle of the room, stood in front of Marcy's bed, reached into my bra, and threw a man's $350,000 golden Rolex watch on her comforter.

            "Is that...?"

            "I stole it."

            "You?" Marcy rose a brow. "No freaking way! From who? From a store? You could go to jail--!"

            "Trust me, with my luck, I'll just be forced to see this man again." I ground my teeth together. "Ask me about the interview again. And please, take off the glasses."

            "My glasses?"

            "Just take them off, you remind me of someone I hate!"

            Concerned, Marcy sat up on the bed, moving her laptop to the side so that I could sit down. I didn't move an inch. "Um, how was the interview...?"

            "Couldn't have been any worse." I yanked at a stupid silky curl that framed my face, trying to get rid of any evidence of the day's events. The curls had taken Marcy and I two to hours perfect in the morning, and all I could imagine now were two big male hands running their stupid fingers through them. "It really happened, and I was so embarrassed. The whole thing was just so... aggravating and degrading. I was border-line sexually harassed by this man. I swear, I've never been so mad in my life... And sexually frustrated!"

            "What the hell happened?"

            "Hell happened! He happened! Don't make me tell the story, Marcy. Please, I beg of you!" I started to pace the room, still wearing the most painful heels in the universe. Marcy's heels. Marcy's slacks. Marcy's blouse. Even Marcy's blazer. I wanted to take it all off. It wasn't me. I wasn't me anymore.

            "We both know you would be much more comfortable in a poor man's sweatshirt and ripped jeans," a cruel voice from the past slithered in my skull.

            "Please don't make me tell the whole story," I repeated. Now I was close to tears. What man was worth tears after meeting them for the first time?

            "Faith, it's eleven at night on a Saturday and you're here, still dressed in what you wore to the interview, with your hair and your makeup all over the place. You wanted to tell me what happened or you wouldn't be here." Marcy waited patiently, gracefully sitting on her bed and hugging a pillow to her chest. "Tell Dr. Marcy what's on your mind. When you're ready, of course."